by Sean Black
He fished into Monocle’s waistband and pulled out a knife. He tossed it onto the table and eased the man out from the booth.
Monocle’s feet dangled in the air as Ty lifted him up by the throat, his thumb pressing into his mandibular nerve. As everyone went quiet, Ty set him down, spun him round and shoved him hard towards the swing doors that led into the kitchen.
Moving at speed, he pushed Monocle through the kitchen. The cooks and dishwashers and busboys ignored what has happening. This seemed to be a private matter and as long as no one was killed in their kitchen, it wasn’t really anything that concerned them.
“You’re making a big mistake,” said Monocle, who seemed to have recovered a fraction of his composure.
“Uh-uh,” said Ty, giving him a fresh shove into a narrow corridor stacked with boxes. A stack of boxes tumbling over, drawing a shout from one of the busboys.
“Sorry, fellas,” said Ty. “We’re just leaving.”
Ty grabbed Monocle by the scruff of the neck. He used his head to open the fire door that led out into the alleyway. The sudden appearance startled a couple behind a dumpster, the girl glassy-eyed; the guy dressed in a business suit staring defiantly at Ty.
Returning his stare with interest, the John decided to beat a tactical retreat. Monocle got to his feet, turned around and squared up to Ty, falling back into a boxing stance. He’d just faced the moment that every pimp feared, public humiliation, which was precisely why Ty had done what he had so publicly.
Now, no doubt, Monocle figured that he had nothing left to lose. Ty intended to disprove that theory.
Monocle circled to Ty’s outside, throwing a sharp jab, his rings flashing through the air. Ty kept his feet planted but moved his upper body and head back. He wanted Monocle to stay close, to think that he had a measure of the distance.
As Monocle threw another jab, Ty sunk down, dove forward and wrapped his arms around the top of Monocle’s legs. He picked him up, carried him the short distance across the alley to one of the metal dumpsters and slammed him into the side of it.
He let out a sharp gasp as the air rushed from his lungs and lay there, his back against the dumpster. Ty reached down, grabbed his throat again and swept his legs out so that he was lying flat. Then he knelt a knee on Monocle’s solar plexus.
The impact of the takedown seemed to have taken the last of the fight from him. Ty spoke slowly, keeping his voice low and calm.
“Listen up, you fucked with the wrong people. That can happen. You weren’t to know. So, I’m going to give you one chance to make things right.”
Ty took the man’s right hand and began to yank off his rings, one by one. He drew back his hand, resisting. Ty sunk his knee harder into Monocle’s chest.
“Don’t fight,” said Ty, like he was talking to an errant schoolboy. “Now you are going to tell everything about your buddy Hanger. His real name. What he looks like. Where his crib is? Where else he hangs out? The name of all his girls. Whether he prefers Wheaties or Captain Crunch cereal. You’re giving me the whole nine. And in return, I’m not going to take you somewhere quiet and torture you.”
Monocle looked up at the huge Marine, eyes wide. There was nothing in Ty’s tone to suggest that he wouldn’t make good on his promise.
“Now,” said Ty. “If I can’t appeal to your own sense of self preservation, look at it as a business decision. A smart one. Hanger’s out of the way and you can scoop up his girls. How many has he got? Four, five girls?”
“Seven,” said Monocle.
Ty let out a low whistle. “Seven, huh? Impressive. Obviously, Kristin’s going home, you understand that much, don’t you?”
Monocle nodded without saying anything.
“Good,” said Ty. “So, you get six more girls out there making you money. Think of it as a mergers and acquisitions move.”
“Okay,” said Monocle.
Ty was struggling to slide Monocle’s pinky ring from his finger. It wouldn’t move past the knuckle.
“There’s always one tricky one, isn’t there?” said Ty, reaching into his pocket and producing a pair of small gardening scissors.
Monocle’s pupils widened.
“See if you can get that one off for me, would you?” said Ty.
Monocle grabbed the ring and worked furiously to release it from his finger.
“They ain’t worth anything. Most of them ain’t real diamonds,” said Monocle.
“Don’t you worry about that. You just start telling me what I need to know.”
Ty grabbed his phone and set the voice recording app he had to record.
Monocle started talking. It seemed like once he started, he couldn’t stop. Details spilled from his mouth. As Ty recorded, he started to put some of Monocle’s rings on his own fingers, casually and without explanation. Most wouldn’t go on. He had to take the widest ones and put them on his pinky and ring fingers. The others he discarded.
No one knew Hanger’s real name. Ty accepted that. It wasn’t all that unusual in criminal and general scumbag circles not to know given names. But he did cough up a lot of other intel that they would be able to use.
He prompted Monocle a few times, but ten minutes in he’d gotten the bulk of what he was going to get. He had the street names of the girls who Hanger pimped. He had some of his favorite hang outs. He had one address, an apartment where Hanger sometimes crashed. More than enough to keep them going.
“So?” said Monocle. “We good?”
Ty cocked his head to one side. “Are we good?” he repeated.
“Almost.”
“Hey, man, I told you everything I know. You know what he’ll do if he finds out I snitched. Hanger’s like the devil. He’s pure evil. Different level.”
Ty said nothing.
“You want my rings? Take ‘em. Take my wallet too,” said Monocle.
“There’s one more thing,” Ty said, finally.
“Oh, yeah? What’s that?”
“This,” said Ty, drawing back his fist and punching Monocle hard in the face.
The prostrate man tried to cover up as Ty pounded punch after punch into his face. When he couldn’t land as well as he wanted, he moved to Monocle’s body. Monocle flailed like a fish on the deck of the boat.
Ty kept going until the man’s was a bloodied, pulped mess and his teeth lay on the ground.
After a while, Ty got up. Slowly he took the rings off one by one and tossed them in the dumpster. Then he knelt down, hauled Monocle up over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry and threw him into the dumpster.
Ty walked deeper into the alleyway where his car was already parked. He got in, gunned the engine, and took off, roaring past the dumpster and whipping a hard left turn out onto the street.
20
Kristin was fast asleep when someone shook her awake. She startled as her eyes opened and standing over her wasn’t Soothe but Hanger, his eyes wide and bloodshot.
“Get up and pack your shit.”
“Wait. What’s going on?”
She propped herself up on one elbow, still thinking she might be dreaming. They had only gotten home an hour before. Exhausted and sore from a busy night on a different track, she’d crawled into bed and was fast asleep seconds after her head hit the pillow.
His hand grabbed her wrist, twisting it hard. His other hand reached over and grabbed her by the hair. She almost fell out of the bed. He let go and kicked her hard in the side, knocking her back against the side of the bed.
“Don’t ever make me repeat myself. You hear me?”
She nodded, tears starting to stream down her face.
He left. She stood up, clutching her side, and started to look around. Mercifully Soothe appeared with a suitcase in each hand. She opened the closet and started throwing stuff in to one suitcase, seemingly at random. The other suitcase, she tossed on to the bed.
Kristin began grabbing whatever she could see and stuffing it into the suitcase on the bed. She had no idea what was going on. She wasn’t ab
out to ask again. So, she just did what she’d been told to do.
Soothe threw one of her jackets.
“Here, put this on. We gotta split.”
With a random assortment of clothes and makeup jammed into the suitcases, they stumbled out of the apartment and into the hallway. Soothe locked up. Hanger was nowhere to be seen.
The building was quiet as they hauled the suitcases to the elevator, down to the lobby and out into the cold night air.
A black BMW sat, engine idling at the curb, Hanger behind the wheel. The trunk popped open, and they threw their suitcases in.
Soothe walked around to the front passenger seat. Kristin got in back. It was a nice car. The leather interior smelled brand new. She had been inside more cars in the past few days than she had in her previous fourteen years. Most of them, like the men who picked her up in them, smelled bad.
She was still too shocked and frightened to ask what was going on. She couldn’t say why, but she sensed it was something to do with her.
Hanger glared at her in the rearview mirror, confirming her suspicion.
“You’re going to need to make me a whole bunch of money to make up for this.”
She wanted to ask what he meant. Before she might have, but she knew better. Soothe had explained to her the rules of the pocket. You didn’t speak to Hanger unless he asked you something. You never made eye contact with another pimp. Ever. That would get you a beating. Maybe worse. You did what you were told when you were told.
Hanger lapsed back into a gloomy, spiteful silence. Kristin couldn’t think of anything she had done wrong.
She stared out the window as they drove. They reached the freeway and kept driving. She had no idea where they were, but they seemed to be heading east, out of Los Angeles.
The car was warm, and still exhausted from working, Kristin fell asleep. The car coming to a stop woke her up. They were outside a motel. Soothe got out, pulled on sweats and walked to the manager’s office. Hanger lowered the window and smoked a joint. He seemed calmer but Kristin kept her eyes half shut so he’d still think she was sleeping.
Five minutes later, Soothe was back. Hanger drove around to the back of the motel. They all got out.
Hanger opened the trunk without getting out. Soothe and Kristin had to pull the luggage out and stagger up the stairs to the room.
Halfway up the stairs, Kristin saw the BMW reverse out of the spot and screech out of the parking lot. Kristin was glad to see him go. Maybe now she’d be told what was going on.
Inside, the room was basic. Two double beds. A TV. A desk. A wardrobe. A bathroom with a toilet, sink and a shower.
Finally, as they unpacked, Kristin found the courage to ask, “How long are we going to be here?”
Soothe shrugged. “Get some sleep. You’re going to be real busy.”
Kristin’s stomach turned over at the thought of what that meant.
21
“Just don’t go getting yourself arrested.” said Lock, his head propped up by several gleaming white hospital pillows.
Ty waved away his concern. “People like that don’t go to the cops, and even if they did what are they going to say, ‘I helped my buddy beat the shit out of some dude that was looking for a child my buddy’s pimping out.’ In any case, fuck that guy. He’s lucky I left him breathing.”
“I still can’t believe they caught me like that. Rookie error.”
“It happens, especially when you’re retired,” said Ty with a hint of a smile. “You get rusty.”
“It’s not gonna happen again, I’ll tell you that. This asshole, Hanger, he’s mine. So, what else did you get from this guy?”
Ty gave him a quick summary of the information that Monocle had coughed up.
“Can you pass me that?” said Lock with a nod to the locker.
Ty picked up the glass of water and handed it to Lock. He took a sip, grimacing with the pain of even this most basic of actions.
“What they giving you for the pain?”
“Vicodin,” said Lock. “Think that’s what it is.”
“Nice!” grinned Ty. “Just don’t go getting hooked. Opiates can be kind of moreish.”
“Don’t worry. I’m checking out later.”
“You sure that’s a good idea?” said Ty.
“Nope, but no one’s going to find that girl with me lying here.”
“I got you covered.”
“Ty, this is my crusade, remember?”
“And now it’s mine too.”
“You know it’s a pro bono deal,” said Lock. He was sure he’d mentioned this part to Ty before, but he wanted to make sure. There would be no payment, only costs, and he doubted many of them would even be tax deductible.
“Yeah, not a fan of working for free,” said Ty. “But I guess I can make an exception just this once.”
Lock took another sip of water.
“It is just this once, right?” said Ty, his face clouded with concern.
“I’m not sure Carmen would be happy with me doing this full time. Not if it means this,” said Lock, taking in the hospital room.
“Yeah, I know,” said Ty. “Kind of ironic. All the situations we’ve been in and you end up catching a beating on something low end like this.”
“Thanks, but you don’t have to remind me.”
Ty stood up. He patted the end of the bed. “I got some leads to follow up. Don’t go doing anything crazy. Rest up for a few days. I can take up the slack until you’re back on your feet.”
“You sound like Carmen,” said Lock.
“I mean it,” said Ty. “Give it a few days before you get back in the game.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll take it easy for a while,” said Lock, noncommittal.
22
As he got out of his car and headed for the entrance to the apartment block, Ty thought about the scene in the movie Pulp Fiction where Samuel L. Jackson’s character talked about how his girlfriend being a vegetarian meant that he had to be one.
This situation, he reflected, was a little like that. Because Lock had got bored and decided to go on a crusade, now Ty was on one too.
On the other hand, Lock had saved his ass more times than he cared to count. So, what the hell, he guessed a few days tracking down this kid wasn’t the end of the world. They’d find her, take her with them, and then he could get back to paying clients.
Apart from the height of hostilities in Afghanistan and Iraq, Ty couldn’t remember a time when the security business had been so in demand, not in America anyway.
People were scared. Especially rich people. Having spent time in actual war zones, he didn’t get it. He assumed it was down to reading the news and watching TV and the constant consumption of social media, which often painted a picture of the nation he didn’t recognize. All that said, fear was good when you were someone who sold safety and reassurance.
Timing his jog up the short flight of stairs to coincide with someone coming out, he held the door open as a woman came out carrying a tiny dog on a leash. She looked at him but didn’t say anything, which figured. The apartment building was a little down at heel and given the person he was looking for, Hanger’s bottom girl who went by the name Soothe, Ty figured that male visitors might just be a regular feature.
In the lobby he checked the mailbox and the apartment number. 203. Second floor. The mailbox for the apartment looked to be empty. That was good news, a sign that Soothe, and possibly Kristin, might be up there.
Ty’s plan was simple. Get inside somehow. If Kristin was there, make sure she didn’t leave and call the cops. If they didn’t respond fast enough or things got heated, he would put her in his car and drive her home himself. Lock had already given him the Miller family address.
The elevator was, unsurprisingly, out of order. The building reminded him of a lot of people in LA, something that the sunshine made look fine from a distance.
He took the stairs two at a time, taking the opportunity to work off some of the turkey and sweet
potato pie he’d ODed on. He pushed out into the corridor, turned a corner and there it was. Apartment number 203.
With a loud rap of the knuckles, he stayed close to the door to see if he could hear movement, his hand pressed flat against the peephole so no one looking out could see him.
Nothing. No response. No sound from inside.
He tried again.
If anyone was inside, they were staying quiet.
He wondered if Monocle had coughed up a fake address, but doubted it. Monocle may have backed up his buddy when they beat up Lock, but Ty had put some real fear in the man.
It was more likely that he’d tipped off Hanger.
There was only one way to find out.
Stepping back, Ty launched a heavy boot at the edge of the door frame. Cheap door. Cheap lock. It gave way on the second attempt, the frame splintering.
None of the neighbors opened their door to see what was going on. Ty stepped inside, his gun drawn, just in case Hanger was waiting on the inside.
Pushing the front door closed behind him, he moved silently into the apartment. Dirty dishes and empty food containers and liquor bottles were strewn across a small kitchen. The dishes filled the sink and spilled over onto the counter. A cockroach made a sudden dash for safety as Ty took a closer look.
On a small breakfast table, an ashtray overflowed with lipstick smeared cigarette butts. A half empty bottle of vodka sat next to it.
It was impossible to tell if they had left in a hurry or whether the filth and squalor was a regular feature of a chaotic lifestyle.
The motif continued in the living room. A muted TV was tuned to a rap music channel. There were more bottles here. Ty lifted a small clear plastic bag full of marijuana buds. He set it back down and moved into a bedroom.
Clothes were strewn across the bed and floor. He checked the closet for suitcases and bags and didn’t see any.
They had split. In a hurry. He would bet on it.
He took a quick video, panning across the clothes. Perhaps Kristin’s mom would spot an item she recognized from her daughter’s wardrobe and they would have confirmation that she’d been here, even if she wasn’t here now.